


a new philosophy

by dizzy



Category: IT (2017), IT (2019), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Because Fuck It, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, and i said so, by bill hader's crying face, this fic brought to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 18:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: Eddie lives, and Richie suffers. (Indulgent hurt/comfort fix-it fic.)





	a new philosophy

Richie can't stop crying. 

Eddie sees it, hears it, in flashes of consciousness that come and go like everything else. Worried voices and people calling his name and Ben slapping his face gently, the _is he still breathing_ asked over and over again. 

Eddie isn't really sure himself, sometimes. Is he breathing? Everything feels cold and hot and bright and dark all at the same time. The only thing his brain can focus clearly on is the background soundtrack of wet hitching breath and broken sobs. 

*

In the hospital, he loses time but he doesn't forget. 

Medical coma, apparently. Blood loss, surgery. 

When he starts to come to, he's not really sure what he remembers and what he imagines. Were people talking to him while he was out? Or was he dreaming? 

Was everything a dream? His eyes shift restlessly behind closed lids. He's not committed to being awake yet. 

He can't tell memory from reality, but he still knows he isn’t alone. 

*

Nothing was a dream. 

Nightmare, maybe. 

When he does wake up, everyone's still there. That part is nice, at least. He hurts in a million different places and his mind feels cloudy from what he assumes is a metric fuckton of drugs but everyone's still there. 

Bev is crying. Ben and Bill just look relieved. There's a woman there with Bill, smiling and pretty, clutching his arm. Mike looks stoic in that way he always does, but he's smiling. 

Richie just looks like a ghost. A really sad ghost that needs a shower and a shave. 

*

The doctors say his healing is remarkable. 

When Eddie repeats it back to the group, no one knows quite what to do with it. They seem to decide en masse to just say fuck it and accept that things are weird as hell and this time the weirdness is leaning in the direction of good. 

They're not used to that, but they'll take it. 

When they tell him he can leave that afternoon, Richie walks out of the room. 

*

Fuck it. 

It's a beautiful phrase. 

_Fuck it._

It's how Eddie feels when he talks to Myra on the phone. He's got _fuck it_ coursing through his veins and he won't tell her he's going to leave her because he knows he needs to say that with a clear mind and none of this post-trauma adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knows he needs to be sure and steady to make that decision. 

But he knows he won't find what he needs right now with her so, _fuck it_, Myra, he's not going home. And she can cry and shout and he'll listen and he'll take it because he knows he's hurting her and he knows in a lot of ways she's only treating him the way he's allowed himself to be treated. 

It's not right, but he's played his part in it. There were years early on where he could have been firmer in his ground but he always felt lost and untethered after Derry. She felt like something to tether himself to and it was comfortable even when it wasn't good. He resents her for the way she makes him feel, but he resents himself, too. 

So he'll allow her this anger and these pleading words and he won't shout back. But he still hands up the phone when he's finished listening and he can't find much sorrow in his heart. 

Mostly just relief. 

*

Richie still looks like a ghost. 

They all walk around him - not like he isn't there, but like he's something fragile and they have to step carefully. 

Richie mostly stays in his room. Eddie sees Bev talking to him in quiet places sometimes. 

When Eddie tries to ask Bev, she just looks sad. 

"It messed him up," she says, reaching out and touching Eddie's arm. Her touch is cool but her eyes are warm. "Seeing you. it messed him up a lot. He thought you were gone. And... we did, too. We all did. We thought - we needed to get out. Eddie..." 

Her voice is quiet. Pained. 

He waits for her to go on. 

"Eddie, we were going to leave." She wipes tears away. "We were going to leave you, because we thought there was no way you could be alive, but he wouldn't. I wish... no. I don't wish you could have seen it. But he wouldn't let you go." 

Eddie stands up. He feels heavy with the words she said, so he carries them with him back to his room and doesn't sleep that night. 

* 

They're finished with Derry, but not with each other. Not yet.

Bill and Audra buy tickets for three days out. Mike's figuring out what he wants to do. Bev has things going on that she only talks about in whispers with Ben, mostly. Eddie knows enough; her husband. 

Eddie's in the same boat, he figures. He's got shit to sort through in his life. 

But right now he just feels so tired and they're all soaking in strength from each other so he goes from resting his head on a pillow in the townhouse in Derry to resting his head on a pillow in the penthouse suite in a building in Portland, Maine that Ben apparently owns. 

_Asshole,_ Eddie says to Richie in his imagination. _He can't have abs and be talented, too._

Richie in his mind laughs and tells Eddie that's a good one. 

*

They do a lot of talking. Everyone has decades of life to catch up on, and years of memories to share and relive. 

Laughter. Joy. Tears. Loss. They've run the gamut. They need to process it, Ben says. He's gonna keep the penthouse open to them for as long as anyone needs a place to stay. 

Sometimes they splinter into pairs and small groups. Richie disappears once for a long time. When he comes back his eyes are rimmed in red. 

He sits on the sofa. 

Eddie stares at him and then walks to the bar. He pulls down two glasses and pours two fingers of a whiskey he's sure is expensive into each one. 

He takes them over and hands one to Richie, then sits down beside him. 

Richie looks surprised, almost like he hadn't realized Eddie was there. For just a moment, there's a curtain yanked back and Eddie sees something that looks like pure anguish before it's shuttered. 

"Thanks," Richie says, voice hoarse. 

He's definitely been crying. It makes Eddie want to cry, too. 

He feels lost with Richie like this. He feels like he's _lost something_, and he wants it back. 

He coughs when he takes the first sip of whiskey and he's relieved when Richie laughs. It's just a soft little sound in the back of his throat but it feels good to hear. 

*

He sits beside Richie every time he can now. 

He's sure other people notice. Maybe. Or maybe they don't. Maybe they're too caught up in their own things to notice. 

But he sits by Richie as close as he can. 

He's drowsy one night. They've been watching all the 90s things they saw together, linking the scenes with memories. 

Eddie rests his head on Richie's shoulder. Richie doesn't do anything. He doesn't tense, doesn't stiffen. Doesn't react. 

In the back of his mind he thinks, _Fuck it,_ and he reaches between them and lifts Richie's arm until it fits around his shoulder. 

Richie does react then. It's a long, ragged breath. 

Then he curls his fingers into the sleeve of Eddie's shirt and holds on tight. Eddie settles his weight comfortably against Richie and he dares anyone to say anything about it. 

(No one does.) 

*

"I don't want to think anymore." Eddie says. 

They're sitting on the balcony. 

Richie was first. Eddie joined him. There's a loveseat out here. The view is nice. 

"Yeah?" Richie asks. 

"I guess near death experiences change people," he says. "It's not like my brain doesn't go to certain places still. But it doesn't seem as important anymore. My wife leaves me ten voicemails a day and I listen to them and all the things she's telling me just don't seem important anymore." 

"I get that," Richie says. 

Eddie keeps going. "And I think about my life back home. All the things that seemed important. And it's just like, what. Why. None of it made me feel alive." 

"Yeah." Richie sounds like he's agreeing. 

"So I've got this philosophy right now: fuck it. And I'm gonna live by it because... because I fucking want to!"

Richie snorts and looks at him. "Fuck it? That's your big philosophy?" 

Eddie feels buoyed. He can't explain why. He just does. He feels practically fucking giddy. "Yeah." He presses his shoulder in close against Richie's. "It is." 

"Well." Richie tips his head to the sky. "Fuck it, then."

*

Nothing changes, but everything is different. 

Bill and Audra leave. 

Mike buys his plane tickets. Not Florida, not yet. But he says he'll get there eventually. 

Beverly's meeting with lawyers. 

Eddie doesn't talk about going back home yet. Richie doesn't either. 

*

Richie watches a lot of tv. A lot of Netflix. 

Eddie finds him stretched out on the sofa. "I hate that guy." 

"Gotta keep up with the competition," Richie says, a stand up comedy special playing onscreen. Eddie's fairly sure he hasn't laughed once based on the expression on his face. 

Eddie stands there by the sofa. It's late, really late. He's in worn out sweats and a t-shirt already. He'd been planning on going to bed. 

Richie watches tv all night long sometimes. The lack of sleep is evident in the lines etched onto his face, the bags underneath his eyes. 

Eddie makes an impulse decision and says, "Can I join you?" 

Richie glances up. "Don't have to ask, Eds." 

He starts to move. 

"Don't get up," Eddie says. 

Richie watches him, curious, as Eddie comes closer. 

"Um just... lift your head. Your shoulders." Eddie doesn't stumble over the words, but it's a close thing. 

He feels nervous. Has he ever felt this nervous before? Over what? 

Over Richie? 

Yes and no. Richie, but something else. That something in Richie that seems broken. 

That thing Eddie wants to fix. 

He sits on the end of the sofa and then tugs Richie back down until Richie's head is in his lap. 

"This okay?" He whispers. It just feels like a whisper moment. 

"Yeah," Richie whispers back. 

His head feels heavy against Eddie's thighs. After a couple of minutes, Eddie lifts a hand and starts to stroke through Richie's hair. 

Richie starts to cry. He tries to be quiet about it, but he can't really. It sounds like broken noises being pulled from the depths of him and stifled badly. 

Eddie doesn't stop until Richie falls asleep. 

*

He stands in the mirror staring at a wound he still has to clean every day and he remembers Bev saying that Richie wouldn't leave him there. 

He wonders if that's it. He wonders if there's something more. 

_He thought you were gone._

Eddie pulls his shirt back down and walks through the halls of the penthouse to Richie's room. He knocks softly on the door. 

He and Myra sleep in separate bedrooms at home. They always have. He can't remember the last time he went to seek her out at night. He tries to picture what her bedroom even looks like, but can't. 

It's not a lost memory. He just doesn't know. 

Richie's room looks like Richie himself; messy and lived in, though it's barely been a week. 

"Hey, Eds." Richie seems... tired. 

Like he always does. 

Tired and a little bit lost. 

"Hey." Eddie steps in the room and shuts the door behind him. 

Richie watches with curiosity. "Need something?" 

"No," Eddie says. "Yes. I don't know." 

"Ah, decisive, I see." Richie just stands there.

He's showered recently. There's a spot on his shoulder that's still damp, where his shirt is sticking to him. The neck of it is loose and Eddie can see chest hair against his skin. 

The way it catches his eye is an impulse he's buried for as long as he can remember. He doesn't linger on it now, just treats it like he always has, tucks it away. He'll get to that _fuck it_ moment after he finishes taking care of this more pressing one. 

"I'm alive," he blurts out. 

"Yeah," Richie says. "I know." 

"I just - I'm alive," Eddie says again. "Do you know that?" 

Richie looks struck. "Eddie." 

Eddie grabs Richie's hands and puts them to his face. The stab wound isn't bandaged anymore, though the scar looks fresh. That healed 'faster than expected' as well. "I'm alive, Richie." 

"I know," Richie whispers, shutting his eyes. 

He doesn't move his hands away. He leaves them there, splayed on Eddie's skin.

"I'm alive. Because of you." 

Richie's breath hitches again. "Fucking goddamnit. All I do is cry lately." 

"It's okay," Eddie says. "Cry." 

"You're alive," Richie whispers, and it's that broken sound again. 

Eddie steps forward, out of the touch, but into a deeper one. He wraps his arms around Richie and squeezes, squeezes as tight as he can. 

Richie doesn't hug back so much as cling to him like a drowning man. "I saw you in the deadlights." 

Eddie's stomach drops. He thinks of Beverly, seeing how they all died. 

"Fuck," he whispers. 

Richie is crying messily against Eddie's skin now. There's snot, for sure, and a distant part of him prickles, but he shoves it far away and cups the back of Richie's head instead. 

"I saw you. I left you. You died." Richie barely gets the words out. 

He's crying like a man in mourning. 

Eddie pulls back just enough to stare Richie in the eyes. "I'm alive. Touch me, Rich. Feel me. I'm here, and I'm alive." 

Richie nods and buries his face again. 

*

Eventually they lie down on Richie's bed. Fully clothed, shoulder to shoulder, wrung out emotionally. 

"You saw more than just me dead, didn't you?" Eddie asks. 

Richie nods. 

"What was it?" Eddie asks. Then, immediately, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." 

"Of course not, dipshit," Richie says. 

It's the most Richie he's sounded in a while, even if it's still not full on.

Maybe none of them will ever be full on who they were before again. Eddie knows he certainly won't be. 

It takes Richie a long time, but eventually he says, "I saw me, after you." 

Eddie doesn't ask anymore. He will eventually, but right now that feels like something looming too large, so he doesn't say anything and just lets Richie take his hand. 

*

"He's doing better?" Beverly says, sat on the sofa with Eddie. 

It's just the four of them left now. Wherever Ben and Beverly end up, it's already clear it'll be together. Eddie knows with each day that passes he's closer to having to deal with his life back home. He married a woman who deserves some answers even if she won’t like them. 

He's just not ready yet, though. 

Richie isn't ready either. 

"I think so," Eddie says. 

He doesn't tell her any of Richie's secrets. Partly because what Richie saw is Richie's to tell, and partly because he's still not really sure what's going on. There are things bubbling here and now, beneath the surface. Eddie isn't sure if this is something long ago that he forgot or if it's something all new that he's discovering. 

Sometimes he just can't stop looking at Richie. 

He'll think, _fuck it_, and let himself look - the same way he sits too close and the way he plays with Richie's hair now when Richie rests his head on Eddie's lap, the same way he tries his best to make Richie laugh with cheap insults and stupid jokes. 

Words for that feel like too much. 

"Whatever you did worked," she says. 

"What makes you think I did anything?" He asks. 

She shrugs. "You were always the one. The one that could get through to him." 

He looks at Richie again and Richie looks back, smiling a smile that Eddie knows is just for him. 

_You were always the one._

The future is still big and scary and things will hurt and things will be difficult, but something stolen from him a long time ago feels returned into place and, _fuck it_, he's not letting it go again.

**Author's Note:**

> [read and reblog on tumblr](https://alittledizzy.tumblr.com/post/188496515330/a-new-philosophy-richieeddie-it-rated-t-27k)!
> 
> and thanks to cait for reassuring me that my characterization wasn't just super out there <33


End file.
